#fff277

Sherlock fandom.

Silvery Witchcraft

It is of course not a secret. Not per se. I don’t hide my true identity. It has more to do with what people observe. Or believe, I suppose. Coming to terms with the fact that the paranormal is real doesn't sit well with most people. Therefore, I always find it amusing when someone calls me a witch. Little do they know…

I took my time when I got to choose my appearance and colours. An image of an elderly, fragile-looking lady filled my mind. She fit my favourite colours perfectly. Purple and silver. 

My place of residence had already been chosen for me. 221 Baker Street, London. Such a pretty place. Victorian. Reminded me of my childhood. I immediately set about furnishing the place. 221A would serve as my quarters. I decorated it as a woman my supposed age would. Lots of lace curtains, antimacassars, velvet cushions, a Persian carpet, and mahogany furniture. I hid the modern kitchen appliances in old, almost ancient ones. My cooking and baking would not suffer because of an unpredictable oven, thank you very much!

I didn’t bother with 221C at first but moved upstairs. 221B was going to be rented out. I needed to earn a living. Keeping up appearances and all that nonsense. The flat was quite spacious and had two bedrooms. The empty space got my full attention, and I chose carefully. My intention was for it to look as if the previous tenants had left it fully furnished. 

The walls were covered with creamy-coloured wallpaper and a black lily pattern. Two mismatched chairs, one in worn, but exquisite leather, the other a faded red upholstery one, were positioned by the fireplace. Although they looked old, they weren’t. 

I used quite a few moments to get the bathroom and kitchen just to my liking. The space was scarce, but by using my silver sparks, my secret weapon, I got everything to fit without it seeming cramped. Letting the rooms expand unnoticed by the users, was quite a challenge.

***

My first tenant was Mycroft Holmes’ little brother, Sherlock. Witchcraft is surprisingly fully recognised by the British government. Not publicly, of course, and only a handful of ministries are aware of its existence.

Mycroft summoned me to the Diogenes club, and almost begged me to save his brother.

“He won’t listen to reason,” he sighed. “I have tried everything. You are his last chance, or he will end up dead under one of London’s bridges.”

Mycroft Holmes is just as much of a drama queen as his brother, but this time he wasn’t far off. I saw it in the lines around his eyes and mouth.

Arrangements were made, and I literally served my fake mafia husband to Sherlock on a silver plate. We got on like a house on fire after that.

Sherlock immediately fell in love with 221B, and he moved in the day after we returned from Florida and the execution. I hadn’t felt so alive in centuries!

“You will need a flatmate,” I told him after a while. “It’s too lonely for you. Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man. I hear you during the wee hours. Playing your violin and pacing. A loyal companion is what you need.”

“Who would want me for a flatmate, Hudders?” he asked.

My heart nearly broke at that. Sherlock had become like a son to me, and I hated to see his loneliness. Few people were able to look behind his haughty façade. Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, and Molly Hooper being the exceptions. And me and Mycroft, obviously.

“Talk to Mike Stamford,” I urged him. “He will keep an eye out, and he certainly won’t pull someone like Sebastian Wilkes out of his sleeve.”

***

Before Sherlock left for Barts on January 29, I sent some silver sparks after him. For a moment, too brief for the human eye to discern, it lit him up, making him appear even more handsome. Not that he needed it. It was more for good luck, which he might have needed. It was difficult to use my magic on him due to his unpredictability and that monster of a brain.

The moment I laid eyes on John Watson, after Sherlock’s unprecedented hug, I knew he was just the one to share 221B with the genius detective. I didn’t even consider using my magic on him. He was already perfect for Sherlock. I just had to make sure that Sherlock didn’t push John away when he made his move to inquire about his romantic life and orientation. 

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Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #277 prompt, silver sparks.

Crown of Glory

Pale blonde

Almost white

At my birth

Dirty blonde

As I grew older

Dyed and permed

Through my teenage years

Mom buns through my twenties

At first I dyed

The silver away

The silver sparks

That show my age

But

Now I embrace them

These signs of survival

Aging is a privilege denied to many

Celebrate those silver streaks and sparks

That white and grey hair

A crown of glory

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Fandom: Encanto (2021) Characters: Mirabel Madrigal, Bruno Madrigal Rating: G Category: Shippy Gen (thank you, AO3 and the crowd at @thirty-plus-fanfic) Word Count: 850

Also available on AO3 (with in-line graphics): https://archiveofourown.org/works/60245923

Inspired by @litel27-2point0's wonderful comic, Happy Birthday Mirabel

Mirabel shares her birthday with Gabriel García Márquez, the author of "One Hundred Years of Solitude": March 6. There aren't any major "established" meteor showers in March, but there are hundreds that have occurred occasionally through the year that have been spotted and logged by astronomers, at least 13 of which are in March: https://www.ta3.sk/IAUC22DB/MDC2007/Roje/roje_lista.php.

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Mirabel's 20th birthday, like most of her birthdays, was a low-key, family-only affair. This wasn't because no one cared; it was because her birthday usually fell during Lent, the time of year when a big, loud party was inappropriate. She was just glad that the year she turned fifteen, Easter was late enough for her quinceañera to fall during the final days of carneval.

After the coffee and her cake were finished, Mirabel thanked her family again and packed up their gifts to bring to her room (her room, the one she had waited for for most of her life). Tío Bruno had given her a spindle rack, loaded with three new spindles, all of which he had carved himself. She loved the little metal butterflies he had decorated the whorls with.

After Mirabel put the rest of her family's gifts away, she decided to do a little spinning while saying her bedtime prayers. She opened up the new rack to try one of Tío Bruno's spindles, and a slip of paper fell out.

prompt by @flashfictionfridayofficial Short background snippet for my WIP Magical Sword that might explain where the Princess' reputation in Moonlight Adventures comes from

“What do you mean with ‘She’s gone’?”

“I’m so sorry, my King. I only turned around for one second and the next moment she had disappeared,” the woman in front of the King stuttered. Her whole body was shaking, her face was red, and it looked like she was almost crying.

“How could you lose my daughter?” King Aris asked in total disbelief, then turned around facing two of his men. “And what are you still doing here? Go find the Princess. Immediately!” he shouted.